


Empty

by INMH



Series: Merry Month of Masturbation Fills (2016) [17]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Allusions to period-typical homophobia, Angst, Drama, Loneliness, M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Other, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Pre-Avengers (2012), Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6889726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The future is pretty damn lonely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty

**Author's Note:**

> At some point I will write some Stucky that doesn’t hurt, I swear. I don’t even know why I’m so compelled to write a second angsty Steve-masturbates-to-the-tune-of-his-unrequited-feelings-for-Bucky story. It just happened.

There are some nights when Steve almost wishes that they hadn’t pulled him out of the ice.  
  
He knows a grand-total of two people in 2011: Peggy, and Nicky Fury. Steve had been thrilled beyond reason to realize that Peggy was still alive. But his joy had turned bitter-sweet once he’d met with her again in the nursing home, only to be informed that she was suffering from progressively worsening dementia and often lost track of her train of thought. Sometimes she even forgot who he was.  
  
Steve visits her faithfully, but he can feel her slipping away.  
  
Nick Fury is not a friend, but an ally, and one that is still largely unknown to Steve. He is not someone Steve can confide in, nor is he someone he even feels he can be 100% honest with in some respects, though God knows he tries. No way he could come back after freezing in the arctic for almost seventy years and have a wealth of people he could truly and without hesitation rely on.  
  
What he can’t stand, really, is the quiet.  
  
New York is never really quiet, but his apartment sure as hell is. Things were never this quiet with the Commandos, never when he was on tour, never when he was in training camp, and certainly not when he lived with Bucky.  
  
 _Bucky._  
  
He tries to comfort himself, tries to tell himself that given his little mishap Bucky would be dead by now anyway even if he hadn’t fallen. But all of this silent alone-time with little distraction other than reading up on everything he’d missed only forced Steve to confront the grief he’d been repressing since that day.  
  
 _“This isn't payback is it?”_  
  
 _“Now, why would I do that?”_  
  
These are the words that drag through his mind when it gets too quiet. Those are the last few good, normal words he and Bucky had exchanged. Steve goes over that particular moment a lot, bemused at how close Bucky was to being _gone_ and neither of them realizing it. The things he could have said. The things he wanted and _needed_ to say and now never would.  
  
He and Bucky had been together for so long, before and during the war. Hell, he was pretty sure the time between Bucky leaving for Europe and their reuniting in Hydra’s fortress was the longest they’d been apart since they’d met. The years they had spent together seemed blurred now, and Steve couldn’t tell if it was a side-effect from his time in the ice or the grief refusing to let him view the memories individually.  
  
Altogether, most of his memories of Bucky are one big blur of hurt, and he hates it.  
  
He settles into bed, tries to tune out the glow of New York’s nightlife beneath the shade and focus on something good.  
  
 _“Bucky-”_  
  
 _“Keep it down. You’ll wake the guys.”_  
  
Bucky was warm, always so warm, and Steve had felt giddy when Bucky had lowered himself on top of him and brushed his lips against his cheek.  
  
 _“Shhh.”_  
  
It occurs to him that if Bucky was here with him right at this moment, politeness would be their only reason for being quiet and not because their military careers depended on not letting anyone catch-on that sometimes they shared beds in a manner that wasn’t limited to close friendliness.  
  
But he shouldn’t think about that, he’s trying to find something _good_ to remember.  
  
Steve slides a hand over his mouth the way Bucky had, because he couldn’t be quiet back then and he can’t be quiet now when he slides down his sleeping pants and takes himself into hand.  
  
He can’t quite capture this memory the way he wants to. He wasn’t touching himself back then, that was Bucky; he’d had his fingers knotted into Bucky’s hair and shirt, and Bucky’s weight hovering over him had been overwhelming in the best way possible. Without someone else, it was difficult to capture any sort of feeling from it. Without _Bucky,_ it was impossible to replicate.  
  
God, he can’t even touch himself the way Bucky did. He did it with quick, sure strokes, and Steve is fumbling and shaking and for all he’s feeling right now, he might have given up on this if it hadn’t been (literally) sixty-eight years since he’d masturbated and part of him desperately needed to get off.  
  
“Oh, Bucky,” He whimpers before he comes, hips jerking sharply on the bed, “Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.”  
  
And when he comes down from his orgasm, it is painfully cold and silent.  
  
-End


End file.
